


This Undisclosed Thing

by Kendas



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi, Pegging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-08
Updated: 2010-10-08
Packaged: 2017-10-12 12:48:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/124991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kendas/pseuds/Kendas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermione risks a glance down at the box in front of her and marvels when her cheeks don't heat at the object inside.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Undisclosed Thing

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** None of the characters or locations used in this story are mine. They belong solely to the imagination of J.K. Rowling, Warner Brothers and Bloomsbury.

**This Undisclosed Thing**

Hermione feels her skin prickle and tingle as the flat of a palm smoothes across her belly. It cups the gentle curve that's born from too much time behind her desk at the Ministry, and she blushes. Lips brush her ear from behind, and there's a whispered chastisement to raise her chin.

She does. Lifting her head and meeting the gaze of the other wizard in the room. His curly brown locks still wet from the shower. They cling to his forehead as Terry lays - spread naked in front of her - on the library's chaise.

His eyes don't stay locked on her for long. There's a brief acknowledgment and then they're back to following the movement of the hand now slowly sliding its way up her rib cage.

 _Back to Blaise_ , she thinks.

Behind her, Blaise cups and weighs one breast. His fingers nimbly catching the bud of her nipple, rolling and tweaking it between thumb and forefinger until it's hard and Hermione lets slip a moan.

She bites her lip to prevent any further sound escaping. She hates how smug he gets when she's like this. When he almost makes her give into her principles and beg.

Her attempt doesn't save her. She feels the weight of his chin rest on her shoulder, his lips turning in to mouth and nip at her neck. A deep chuckle rumbles through his chest and into her back from where she's pressed against him. It's low and teasing, and Hermione wants so much to just cry out in frustration for him to hurry up and get this moving, but the man on the sofa beats her to it.

"Blaise!" Terry whines, his head arching back against the chaise and hips seeking a contact that's just not there.

Hermione's eyes snap and focus on him. To the way his arms are drawn up over the armrest; leather cords pulled taut and tight, lacing Terry securely to the legs of the chaise lounge. She watches the way they bite into the skin of his wrists as he pulls against his bonds. They dig into the soft fabric of the headrest making channels and valleys in the padding. Hermione can't help but wonder about the strain the awkward position must be placing on Terry's arms. And she watches, slightly in awe, as the thongs shift and reveal the pale skin of Terry's forearms; red welts and imprints already blooming bright beneath.

It's hot though. She can't deny that. The way he looks – so open, so needy. There's a faint sheen of sweat glistening on his skin and Hermione has this sudden urge to lick it off.

The attraction she feels to Terry isn't the same as she feels for Blaise. It wasn't there when this thing between the three of them started. She'd never really looked at Terry in that way before, where as she had Blaise. She'd never been able to quite look away from Blaise after their sixth year at Hogwarts: quiet words and unnervingly accurate observations forcing her to re-evaluate the Slytherin.

Her tongue sweeps her bottom lip as she imagines the salty taste of Terry's skin and thinks that's not entirely true. It's just Terry's different.

There'd been a time, before she'd found out he was gay, when she had thought of the possibility of Terry. He was bright - despite his clumsiness in certain subjects. And not unattractive even if he did talk so much that occasional Hermione wanted to gag him. But, at some point after he'd quietly confessed his sexual orientation to her, Hermione had moved him into a different category in her head and any attraction she had felt she'd forcibly displaced.

Blaise had turned that all on its head.

Blaise was always turning things on their head. At least, it seemed that way to her. Sometimes, Hermione thinks that he gets off on it; contradicting the norm and making people readjust their preconceptions. He gets away with it, and she thinks that's because he seems to pick his battles carefully, always managing to approach them strategically. She guesses it's his way of rebelling against a mother who always wanted him to fit in, and that helps Hermione understand and accept it some.

She feels Terry's eyes alight on her again. He seems to arch his hips a little more purposefully this time, spreading his legs as he does so, heels digging into the chaise. It's coy and seductive, and something she's far more used to seeing directed at Blaise. She watches him watch her and in that moment she sees the anticipation and fear she feels reflected in his eyes. Then his eyes are gone, moving past her to the press of Blaise's body behind - the roll of his hips against the crease of her arse - and something else settles in them. Something else she recognises in herself.

This isn't her fantasy. And it's sure as hell not Terry's. She can't imagine Terry ever fantasying or jerking himself off to this. But then there's a lot they both never thought about before Blaise. She's pretty sure Terry never imagined himself again having to kiss a girl, for example. But he has. She's felt his tongue inside her mouth moving against hers, and done the same to him in return. They've both moaned and pressed closer and it's not the same as it is with Blaise - there's not the same heat, the need to get as close as physically possible and it doesn't feel as comfortable - but it's getting easier, how she looks at him is changing, and there is a want there now.

 _Like comfort,_ she thinks. _Like something._

They've got closer. She supposes that was inevitable, but she'd been surprised how smooth the transition of emotions had been. Blaise has eased it a lot. She knows that. At first she'd thought it would bother her more that Terry was really only there because of Blaise, but then she'd realised she was only there because of Blaise too and any jealousy was kind of hypocritical.

***

Terry keens. Blaise's name melding into hers, and Hermione's eyes flick up.

Blaise steps back from her and she feels the cold shock of air as her skin's exposed to the cool air of the library once more. She shivers, her breasts bob with the movement and she wraps her arms around her middle to ward of the momentary cold.

He's back a minute later though, stepping in front of her this time. His hand move her arms back to her sides, and his lips catch hers before he kneels in front of her; looking up with a wicked smirk. He pulls the box they'd all opened earlier that day out from behind his back and lays it on the floor between them.

She looks down at it, bites her lip, then looks back to Terry. She can't quite bring herself to look at the box - or Blaise - for too long.

Terry's eyes are focussed on the box though. So much so that he hasn't even noticed the way she's watching him. The apprehension she saw earlier is still there, but now there's lust too. It's there in the way his eyes have darkened and the way his hips are once again thrusting up - his cock hard, jutting up and, where it curves towards his body, leaking pre-come onto his abdomen.

She bites her lip and curses the temperature control charms inside the library. Why they had to do this here when Blaise has a perfectly good – perfectly warm – bedroom upstairs is beyond her. Though as nice as his bedroom is, she concedes that it doesn't smell of leather and ink and parchment. And there wouldn't be that tingle of magic across her skin that she gets here; old enchantments and charms leaking out from Blaise's book collection and tainting the air with a visible hum of power. Hermione sways on the spot as she looses herself in the pure sensation of the room.

***

 

Blaise's attention shifts.

Hermione watches as he crawls across the rug to Terry, his hands snaking up, cupping the balls of Terry's feet and then trailing finger tips up his calves towards his thighs. They dance across the skin of Terry's cock, and Blaise leans in chucking again; low and dirty.

"You want her inside you, don't you, pet?" Blaise hums, lips brushing the back of Terry's knee as he lifts the right leg and proceeds to move further up Terry's body. As he settles himself above Terry, Blaise's thumbs rub soothing circles where Terry's wrists are bound and he places a soft kiss against the corner of his mouth. "Are you imagining how it'll feel? How she'll feel?"

Hermione sucks in a deep breath and rocks on the spot. She steadies herself by widening her stance and that helps some, but it doesn't stop the way her stomach flutters and flips at the sight of the two men pressed together; Blaise's dark chocolate skin pressed in stark contrast against the pale flush of Terry's.

It's beautiful. Reminds her of some sort of illicit representation of heaven and hell. Sin and innocence. Ebony against the palest marble. She's as unprepared for the shock of desire that shoots straight through her body and pools between her legs as she was the first time she saw them together.

That first time they'd all been fully clothed.

The three of them pushed and pressed up against each other in the tight confines of Malfoy's closet - and she still finds that somewhat ironic - Harry and Ron hollering their objections to the game they were playing outside.

 _Seven Minutes of Heaven._

When Hermione had accidentally drawn two names - the scraps of paper sticking together and making her fumble and panic as she read them - she'd been sure it would be _Seven Minutes of Awkward_. She thinks proving her prediction wrong might just be one of Blaise's proudest achievements.

"She's going to feel different to me," Blaise drawls, voice lazy and thick as he licks a line over Terry's jaw. His hips thrust down against Terry, but he smirks, pulling back just as Terry tries to rise and seek more.

There's a mewling sound coming from Terry's mouth and his eyes are lidded.

 _Supplicant._

Terry has no fear of appearing so submissive. He just gives into it and lets go. Basks in the freedom, and the effect that the demonstration of trust draws out of Blaise.

Hermione kind of envies it.

She'd let Blaise tie her up once; magical bonds with a safety word that dispelled them to ease her reticence about the experiment. But she'd been tense and anxious the whole time. Unable to relax and just go with what Blaise was doing to her; telling her.

Terry had lent in. Kissed her cheek and combed his fingers through her hair; whispered, _"You're the one in control, not Blaise,"_ in an attempt to reassure her.

Hermione understood that.

When Blaise had first suggested she try it out she'd read up on those kind of relationships. Sure it was just a game with them, but she'd wanted to know more before she decided. So, she'd knew all about what Terry had been telling her. It had been one of the things that convinced her; helped her understand the whys. But for all she'd known it hadn't helped her relax and it hadn't stopped the freak out - the flash backs to the war and Malfoy Manor and Bellatrix - either.

After the panic attack was over, she'd fled to the bathroom, then made her excuses and left; buried herself in her work for the next two weeks. It was childish and not at all practical. Made her remember her first year; Halloween and a Troll in the bathroom, Harry's wand up it's nose. But it was easier than the other options.

When Blaise had come to find her at work halfway into the second week, she'd flushed and kept her eyes focussed on the desk. When she heard him sigh she'd made the mistake of looking up, had caught the silhouette of his frame in the doorway, and felt her stomach knot as he said, "You should have told us."

All she'd been able to think about though was how on earth Blaise had gotten the information from Harry to explain her behaviour.

***

Blaise moves against Terry.

Milk white legs that see far too little sun wrapped around expensive black slacks. Hips shifting. Cords tight. The rasp of hair and skin as it scraps against fabric and metal.

Blaise is always the last one naked. And he'll keep his trousers or shirt on if he thinks he can get away with it. Hermione knows he's not shy. Not self conscious about his body in any way – can be damn arrogant about it sometimes. But it's one of the things she's noticed about him, and she never had to think too long to understand why.

At school, people said he was a hard one to figure out. At school, people whispered nothing you saw with him was to be trusted. _Just like his mother, I bet._ Hermione's heard it around the Ministry too.

Six months in and she hasn't seen much. Doesn't know a lot about his childhood past a few details he's occasionally deemed innocuous enough to let slip. But she's not sure he's as much of a puzzle as people make out.

Hermione risks a glance down at the box and marvels when her cheeks don't heat at the hard line of black plastic inside. She's not a prude and she's a long way from sexually repressed, but when she'd torn the wrapping off that morning – well, she can't imagine anyone not blushing.

Looking back up at Blaise and Terry she say's quickly, "Help me put it on." _No take backs, no do overs._.

***

Blaise stands in front of her – grinning, a predatory gleam in his eye that she thinks should scare her, but lost its ability to some four months back. Sometime around when Hermione realised that though Blaise flirts like a high class prostitute, he's far more discerning than she ever would have guessed. He's called her a prick tease more than once, but now Hermione feels confident enough in her assessment of him to shoot the same moniker back at him.

" _I'm just using my advantages to the best of my ability,"_ Blaise has always replied. " _Not my fault if others mistake that to mean there's more on offer than there actually is. They should learn not to presume so much._ "

"So, I guess this means I get to call you a prick tease for real," Hermione jokes, voice wavering as Blaise lifts the double ended strap-on from the box and spreads it out on the floor; straps arrayed so that she can easily step into them.

"Not really," Blaise replies, casual – cocky, lifting one of her legs, then the other to hook them through the device. He stands, slowly raising it up with him, his fingers part her folds and he adjusts the angle of his hold, sliding the shorter length of the double ended dildo inside her; one finger along with it just briefly.

Hermione's head tilts back and she gasps at how cold it feels. "Why's that?" she manages to ask back, hand hooking onto Blaise's shoulder to maintain her balance.

Blaise's tongue licks across her lips and Hermione doesn't even have to open her eyes to know he's smirking. She can feel the tilt of his lips as they move against hers.

"Because I have no intention of teasing either of you right now."

When he pulls back to look at her - his hand tugging on the plastic shaft now protruding from her groin, rocking the one inside her too gently to be anything more than mild torment - Hermione's biting her lip hard and looking down and away.

"Changed your mind?" Blaise asks and it would be so easy for that question to sound disappointed, but it doesn't and she smiles and looks up

"No."

***

It's weird.

Hermione sort of forgets for a moment that she's pushing into Terry. The roll of the end of the strap-on that's inside her - the movement of Blaise's slick fingers as they push tentatively inside her arse like he'd directed her to do to Terry earlier - distracts her.

It's a tangible feeling – how she's connected to these things - unlike her link to Terry - and she looses herself in the sensation. Pushes too hard forward in her eagerness for more. Forgets she's fucking someone as well as being fucked herself.

She doesn't realise until Blaise's free hand catches her hip, holds her still with firm fingers pressing in just hard enough. Her eyes flash open and take in the wince on Terry's face, the way his hands have wormed their way around the cords so he can grasp them; nails biting into the flesh of his palms and knuckles white.

"I'm sorry," she rushes out, leaning forward with the intention of kissing away her mistake only to be caught again by Blaise's hold preventing the sudden push forward.

"You've got to go gently," Blaise mummers in her ear. The chastisement soothed away by the brush of air against her skin and the nuzzle of his nose against her cheek. "Take it slow," he instructs, pushing a second finger into her arse to mimic the burn of the plastic cock inside Terry's. "Watch his face."

***

Blaise hand is guiding her hips, rolling them, pushing her forward into Terry with the thrust of his hips into her.

It's too much sometimes. She finds herself resting her head against Terry's chest and just taking a minute to breathe.

And this is more than ever before.

There's sweat between their skin, Hermione's head slides against Terry's collar bone slightly as Blaise presses those last few inches in. Her breath hitches and arms tense; muscles taut for a moment. Whole body tense.

She bites a bruise onto Terry's shoulder bone and mewls around the flesh.

"Tell me what he feels like," Terry murmurs, voice rough and thick. Slightly strained. His chin nudges against her forehead in an attempt to regain her attention, but Hermione doesn't look up.

Can't just yet.

She squeezes her eyes tight shut, clenches her fists into the cushions of the chaise and somehow forces out the only answer that makes sense right now, "Full."

"Move," he replies back." Merlin! Need you to…"

Hermione rolls her hips and cuts him off.

***

She can feel her orgasm building. Familiar tell-tale ache building in her groin, fluttering in her belly, and all she can think is, "Yes, just a bit more. Nearly –"

But then Blaise is yanking her back slightly, his fingers winding around one of her hands and pulling it up off the chaise.

Her balance shifts slightly as she has to readjust her weight to counteract the loss, and her movement stutters. She almost looses it. Feels the coil start to untangle and fade, before she regains her rhythm and it pulls back in.

***

Terry's eyes are closed. She's been watching them as much as she can for any sign that she might be hurting him ever since her mistake earlier. Sometimes, she forgets – closes her eyes because it's enough to just keep moving, but - while he's whined and groaned, sucked in a couple of great big gasps when Blaise has pulled her so far back only the head of the strap-on's still inside Terry - there's been no hint of pain that she could see.

Now though, his eye flash open, fix on Hermione first then down to between them. To where Blaise is wrapping their joined hands around Terry's cock; spreading the precome over the shaft and stroking upwards until their thumbs brush and press the bundle of nerves in the v near the tip.

"Make him come, Hermione. Want to watch him come apart because of you." Blaise drops kisses into the back of Hermione's neck in-between each spoken word; lapping up the salty sheen of perspiration gathering there with his tongue.

She tightens her fingers. Follows the guide of Blaise's hand and twists as she pulls up. Keeps a steady rhythm and moves her hand in counterpoint to her hips. It's like singing a song where the choir's split up and coming in at separate points.

Terry jerks beneath her, his eyes rolling back as his cock pulses in her hand and she slumps forward, nose pressed into Terry's neck, breath hot against his throat and belly wet as it slides against Terry's come.

And there's a moment when everything just fits.

***

Somehow they end up on the floor after.

Tangled together on the deep pile Turkish rug that, three months earlier, Blaise had returned with after one of his book buying trips. It's not as comfortable as the bed, but upstairs just sounds too far away right now what with the bone deep ache in Hermione's thighs, and the settee wouldn't have fit the three of them.

She draws the blanket one of them – she thinks Terry - had thought to pull of the chair tighter around her body and buries into the warmth radiating from Blaise's side. Hermione's never slept very well since her second year and the incident with the Basilisk. She used to think that maybe she just had a lot of wasted time to catch up, but the shrink that the Ministry made her and Harry see before they started their jobs there had suggested a different slant on things.

Blaise was asleep almost before his head had hit the pillow and that's pretty unusual, she thinks. Or not. He sleeps well after sex. It's the rest of the time he tosses and turns and wakes up with a flare of panic in his eyes before he bites it down and hides it.

Sometimes, when Hermione gives up any pretence of trying to sleep and sneaks downstairs to read, Blaise will follow her and they'll sit and study together into the early hours. Occasionally, finally drifting off curled up on the chaise only to be woken by the smell of Terry decimating bacon in the morning.

It's rare that Terry joins them for their midnight research sessions. Of the three of them he's the only one who seems able to sleep straight through. So, Hermione's surprised when she realises she's got company and that Terry's watching her quietly from his side of the rug.

She looks back for a few minutes before, "Is it weird?" she asks. The question coming out before her sleep deprived brain can sensor it. She blushes and adds quickly, "Doesn't matter. Forget I said anything."

But Terry doesn't seem willing to co-operate because he props himself up on one arm and looks at her. "What? Getting -" he stutters and stalls and Hermione watches the creep of red down his chest until she's distracted by the way his hand is sweeping circles over Blaise's abdomen below the blanket.

She forgets sometimes how shy he can be still. She's so used to thinking that she's the one who should have the patent on being the most repressed of the three of them.

"- fucked. By you?" he finishes at last, and the word seems to come much harder to him than she's ever heard it before – awkward when it's always seemed so natural. Blaise above him - behind him – filthy words of encouragement dripping without abandon from his lips.

She shakes her head and keeps her eyes focussed on the shifting movement below the sheets. "No, not - I meant me, but… Being with me. Not the, but the - In this… thing."

Terry frowns for a moment and Hermione's brain kicks into over drive trying to find a way to force a coherent explanation to her lips. But then his eyes widen in understanding and Hermione breathes a sigh of relief at being spared.

"It was. At the start, maybe." Terry shrugs and casts his eyes down, absently watching the sheets crease and roll. "I don't know. I guess I expected it to be. You know? And -" he hesitates, pink tongue darting out to lick his bottom lip, before he looks up. Serious. But still – It's like how he looked turning in his research paper on the dispersal of magical partials. He'd had the answer, but the formula for how he'd got there was still a little shaky. "Maybe if it wasn't you, but this just – We just -" he grins, shifts his arm and scratches at the back of his neck. "You know?"

And Hermione realises she sort of does and nods.

Terry laughs. Nervous, happy bubble of a giggle that sometimes annoys her to the point she wants to curse him, particularly when she's trying to work. But sometimes, like now, makes her smile and shake her head; forget how hard it is keeping this secret. Not telling her parents. Not really telling Harry or Ron. Keeping it quiet at work – from society. Pretending they're all still single – just friends, colleagues - because she's pretty sure no one would understand that this unconventional thing – _relationship,_ she forces herself to say, giving it a name she hadn't yet dared – is not as sordid as it sounds. As it might seem to everyone else.

And it might not be the same between her and Terry as it is between her and Blaise, but it does _just!_

Terry shifts, moves his hand to floor between her and Blaise, rests his weight on it as he leans over, gaze shifting rapidly between her eyes and lips like this is something new and scary.

It kind of is.

Hermione feels like she's a kid again. Pond dipping with her cousins. She remembers this one time seeing a newt darting for cover between reed stalks and knowing that she had to be sure enough as well as quick enough if she wanted to catch it.

She closes the distance. Leans forward – up – and presses her lips to Terry's; mouth just slightly parted so that she ends up kissing his bottom lip. It's not quite the chaste friendly kisses they've shared before of their own accord. All reassurance and fondness. It's closer to the ones Blaise asked for; hissed pleas to _see_ into their ears and skin.

Terry's tongue is pushing in gently swipes against Hermione's top lip, occasionally catching her front teeth when she parts her mouth a little wider to suck on Terry's lower lip. She smoothes her own tongue across the flesh - still a little bruised and plump from Blaise earlier - in a long sweeping stroke and then stills as it catches against Terry's doing the same.

It's just a flicker like butterfly wings beating as they sup the nectar from the feeders Hermione's mum hangs in the garden. And it's a little like honey because she kind of wants more from the first taste. She leans up closer, threads her fingers into the hair at Terry's nape and pulls him down, lets her tongue slide along his, before nipping the end with her teeth and making him giggle again.

When she pulls back there's a glimmer of brown eyes flecked with gold peering up at them both; lidded and sleepy content in a way she doesn't often see. Not haunted or older than their years. Sometimes the look in Blaise's eyes reminds her of Harry, but now he just looks young – younger than he's maybe ever looked. She waits a beat for a leer or a smirk and feels surprised when it doesn't come and, instead, his expression remains the same.

"You okay?" she asks.

He nods, smiles lazy and relaxed. Loose like maybe he would if he ever let himself get drunk. "Want to go upstairs? Somewhere comfier?" he returns.

Hermione looks to where Terry's idling with a thread of the blanket, pulling and plucking at it, but it's just refusing to come undone.

She smiles back at Blaise, closes her eyes and lets her head fall back against the pillows they pulled of the chairs. "No. I'm alright here for now."

_~Nox~_


End file.
